Into the Sisters' Lair
by True Blackout
Summary: Hogwarts Era, Fifth Year. Draco Malfoy is the victim of a series of terrible events, and finds himself thrown headfirst into a world he knows nothing of. Prologue currently up. Warnings: Theme of child abuse.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **This is a work of fiction. To the best of my knowledge, none of the following ever happened. Other than any original characters, none of the characters herein are my property. This work is a figment of my imagination, and no profit is being reaped as the fruits of my labor. It is not my intention for any copyright infringement to occur.

**Warnings: **This fic does contain some more emotionally trying themes. Child abuse is a theme. Additionally, religious matters are present, so please do not read this if you would find offense in doing so.

**Author's Note:** When I attempted to upload Chapter One, the Prologue was deleted and replaced with Chapter One. (It was weird. I had two copies of it . . . ) I type things straight off the paper, so I had to type it up a second time. This may be a bit different from the first go because I change things when I type them up. My apologies. Chapter One is up.

Reviews are VERY much appreciated!

**Into the Sister's Lair**

Prologue

It was on that night that the course of numerous lives were changed - whether for better or for worse, it was unknowable. Such a change was of little consequence in the grand scheme of things, for the progression of time could not be altered. The most extensive Time Turner and the most skilled wizard with a great bit of luck on his side could only bring events to match the present or future. Too many had proposed in their naïvety to save the dead from certain fate that they had witnessed with their own unlearned eyes, believing that which was set in stone to be changeable. Alas, time moves as quicksand, and naught may be retrieved from its unforgiving depths.

The day had begun as any other for the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. It was a day of workshop and prayer, and congregants from the town had flocked to the church with their children so that the convent's sisters could teach them of the Lord. Thusly, the sisters had found their time quite occupied in entertaining and teaching their young wards. It was after nightfall when the congregants once again retired to their personal homes, and the sisters set to clean-up after that days' services.

The Reverend Mother existed the grounds to dispose of several bags of waste at around ten o'clock that eve, only to come across a blood-chilling sight.


	2. Chapter One: Discovered

**Disclaimer: **This is a work of fiction. To the best of my knowledge, none of the following ever happened. Other than any original characters, none of the characters herein are my property. This work is a figment of my imagination, and no profit is being reaped as the fruits of my labor. It is not my intention for any copyright infringement to occur.

**Warnings: **This fic does contain some more emotionally trying themes. Child abuse is a theme. Additionally, religious matters are present, so please do not read this if you would find offense in doing so.

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the delay, but this is the first chapter. In most stories, I like to simply present things as factual, but in this tale I plan on unfolding the layers for your view. Just as a tidbit of information, Reverend Mothers are sometimes referred to as the "Mother General" or "Mother Superior."

Reviews are very much appreciated!

**Into the Sister's Lair**

Chapter One: Discovered

Reverend Mother Mary Ruth walked down the quiet street outside the Church she had chosen to devote her life to. The street was never active at such a late time of night, and thus the road was cold for lack of the friction of tires moving on rough pavement, the exhaust from cars, and the body heat of pedestrians. A common skip lay at the far end of the street, after which the road ceased to be paved and blended into the woods.

Before reaching the skip, the Reverend Mother was unfortunate enough to nearly trip over a dead weight. In some manner, she saved herself from falling, but the sight and smell that greeted her senses could not be cited as welcome in the least.

A child of unrecognizable age lay before her, clothed in the tattered remnants of a peculiar piece of clothing that was black and almost dress-like. Besides the appearance and violent wear of his clothing, the boy was cloaked in his own blood, blood that had been released from a variety of sources his body throughout. His injuries were gruesome - blood stemmed from a nasty tear at the base of his skull, his arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and it was apparent that not an inch of his pale flesh had been spared from the fate of being scathed with some contusion,blemish, bruise, or cut.

All the terror the child had endured was made evident to the eyes of the Reverend Mother by the reflected light of the moon that so graced the cloudless sky that night. She crouched down, bending knees weary from the toll of her many years. It was then that she found proof that the child was alive in the barely audible, shallow, and ragged breaths that his body struggled to produce and reach the vital air so crucial to his survival past the ordeal he had be cursed to suffer through.

He was unconscious, and some would say luckily so, for the Reverend Mother knew that had the boy been awake, he would have been in pure and unadulterated agony. He would have been in no condition to walk with her back to the convent, and at seventy years of age and small frame, she was likewise in no position to carry the incapacitated child. Still, even with this knowledge fresh in her mind, the Reverend Mother attempted to rouse him, only to elicit from him a pained moan and instantly feel regretful.

Not wanting to leave the child alone to run back to the convent for assistance from another sister, Reverent Mother Mary Ruth chose to approach the nearest house, rushing to the doorway and knocking urgently urgently upon the stained, wooden door. There she pleaded to the man of forty who appeared on the threshold (a man of the congregation) her case, and quickly they descended the triad of steps to the pavement, and down the road to the skip.

"I - can't carry the poor dear," she whispered breathlessly into the warm summer's night air. The man nodded, squatting and lifting the injured child gingerly into his strong arms. "Please, son, we must hurry - " The Reverend Mother broke her urgent plea, for the layman was already progressing towards the convent.

At the entrance, the man ended his gait, for men were not allowed inside the convent except in the most dire of circumstances. The Reverend Mother opened the door, calling for the assistance of her fellow sisters. As they took the child into the convent with prayers of health and recovery upon their lips, she offered thanks to the helpful man. "Thank you, Charles. May the Spirit live within you."

The sisters rushed the boy into the tiny infirmary that was kept in the convent for such events. Never in the Reverend Mother's fifty-odd years as a woman of God had she bore witness to such substantial damage inflicted on the body of a refugee, and her hear ached to see a child suffer so. Sister Tabitha laid him on the white, linen sheets of the infirmary bed with utmost care, and all the sisters bustled around the room.

Many chores were of necessity - the fetching of water, the gathering bandages, medicines, a brace for the boy's broken arm, and a clean set of clothes for the child. None of the sisters were willing to lose the live of a child in their care, and it was with the awareness of the threat that they proceeded with caution and urgency.

Wounds were cleaned with water and rag, ointments were applied where required, and bandages were positioned upon open wounds to prevent the possibility of grievous infection or bleeding out. Prayers were offered up in the hope that the life of an innocent child would be spared, and that the well-being of the child would be granted. The Reverend Mother set the boy's broken arm in a brace with the practiced skill and caution of years of experience.

When all was said and done, it was Sister Tabitha who set to watching over the child. Before becoming entering into her novitiate and subsequently taking her vows, she had worked as a nurse in the children's ward of a hospital. She had seen worse injuries and terrible illnesses in her fourteen years as a nurse, but never did the sight of an injured or ill child cease to break her heart. "The poor lamb," she breathed, and she too offered a pray for the well-being of the child once more.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I hope you enjoyed this chapter, but if not . . . let me know. Please review!

In the next chapter, we shall learn a bit more about the child and the nature of the damage inflicted on the child (whom I am sure you already know the identity of based on the blurb.)

~True Blackout


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